Ash Follow

👽📚Writer, Book Lover, Physics Dabbler, Full Time Student, Full Time Leasing, Weekend Angler 🎣 Follow for stories and stuff

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Today is the day of the great festival. Tribes from all over the land will meet. It is said on this day the moon will swallow the sun and a new birth shall take over. We will leave behind the blood-soaked ground and move forth into an age of growth and rebirth. Just as the crops grow and die, so must we. Every tribe has been planning this for a least a decade, the sacrifices have been primed for most their life, given treasure and gorged like kings. What an honor has been bestowed upon them. They are to be a catalyst, the last blood to be spilt before the treaty is enacted. It is a simple pact between the lands. No more war. No more battles over what is all of ours.
We are different people. We have different cultures, different rituals, but, we desire the same thing- peace. For thousands of years there has been endless bloodshed. It must stop. We all agree on this, but there are still people who wish to keep the world red and the people scared, they shall not succeed.
I am seer, born blind but with a gift of the ultimate sight. If the treaty is not completed, if the last blood isn’t shed, if the seed beneath them does not absorb their life force, the world will never find peace. It will further grow apart until there is nothing left. The animals will not roam, the trees will not whisper as the breeze blows through their leaves and the waters will angry and restless. This cannot happen. “This will not happen,” the wind sighs, “let your heart find peace. They will need your guidance.” My mind steadies as the earth’s hands caress my face.
“The people wait,” A familiar voice speaks from behind, “it is close to time.” I stand, the tickle of the temperature dropping slightly confirms his assumption.
“Within the hour. We must begin.” The sacrifices line up, above the alder seed and their blood sinks into the ground, absorbed by new tree of life. Meals are shared, great speeches are spoke and the pact is sealed. It is done.
They say travel helps forget the weights of the past and that is exactly what we need right now. When the doctor the brought news, it was like a judge pronouncing life imprisonment on an innocent soul. Our child was lost before it ever had a chance. Abbot and I have started to grow distant, both held down by the pain and feeling of loss. I just hope this trip can help. I love my husband, I know he loves me too, but I am sure our love for that baby was deeper than our love for each other and with its passing, we lost a part of our hearts.
Now, I sit in chair 14C on ANA flight #008 on our way to Tokyo, Japan. It feels like the furthest place from home. Our best chance at an escape. We took off a few hours ago, only another 9 and some change to go. I can barely hear the news report speaking about the risks of AI and its possibility of becoming our downfall; ‘We must regulate artificial intelligence before it leads to our extinction.’ My attention is too consumed, taken captive, making the hours pass like years with my mind only turning with imaginings of who the child could’ve been and what our life would have been like… 🤞🏽
#SEAT14C #XPrize
It’s been 84 years and I can still smell the pine syrup on his soles. I remember the worn leather on his favorite jacket between my finger tips and I remember the way his lips felt the last time I ever saw him. We were promised forever under God, but it is God who had different plans. I watched Walter leave on our government’s need. They took all those able and sent them off to fight someone else’s war. There were times I’d wake in the middle of the night and I could almost swear I heard his feet knocking lightly upon the floor, coming to me, but, then I’d lift my head, open my eyes and realize it had been years since they brought the heavy news to my door step. ‘Knock, Knock, Knock.’ I wish I never opened the door. ‘We regret to inform you, your husband, Walter Linna, has been killed in combat.” It was like the whole world was bombed then drowned in the harshest waters imaginable. Everything, gone. Ripped from me. The doctor used to say, “but life has to go on.” And it has, all 84 miserable years. I still haven’t used the china we were gifted on our wedding day. It sits waiting for our first meal. One we will not share until it comes my time to go. With frail hands and sagging skin, I only hope it doesn’t take another 84 years. Though with my failing health, I imagine we’ll be seeing each other again soon. “Will you turn away as you look upon my face? How the beauty you once knew has faded, and yet, yours will remain. Could you still love me, like you did that final day- Is that you coming across my floor?” I am not asleep. I sit in dark room, with not a smidge of light, but there are steps coming toward me. The boots from my dream. Those I used to know. Their sound doesn’t fade, but only grows closer. Until my dear Walter stands before me, in that silly leather jacket and he says to me, “It’s time for dinner, Anna.”
Every year, I’m filled with the same stirring joy that would overcome me when I was first learning the ways of life. I can’t say the event is spectacular in any way but, to me, it was like going to the moon. As a mere tike, my grandfather made a holiday of it. We woke up before the sun rose and would sit on the outside porch. His morning joe was always in a classic white mug with two lumps of sugar and a shot of cream. Still, the steam would dance upon its surface. I wasn’t allowed coffee at such a young age, so freshly squeezed oranges from the neighbor’s tree would have to do. Gosh, I’ve never had sweeter.
Silence. It was the only requirement before dawn, not a word could be spoken. I never understood back then, but, I also never questioned it. Now, I enjoy the pause before the day begins, the peace before our world wakes; maybe this is what he wanted to teach. I never had the chance the chance to ask. 
As the sun would peak over the horizon, he’d gather our glasses, place them in the sink and take his worn grey ivy hat with his left hand and his simple wooden cane in his right. We would then stroll through the high grass, upon the timeworn path talking about the way birds would take flight, why tears fell from the sky and how the world grow and then die. There was so much learned on the early morning saunters.
We would arrive an hour later before the sun had time to bear its full summer heat upon us. It still smells the same. The sweet pull of blooming flowers hits the nostrils the moment the arch comes into view. It called us through the ivy lined corridor toward the towering garden that waited behind. We only went the moment it would be in full bloom. He would say it’s beauty only rivaled that of my grandmother. Sadly, she passed during my mother’s birth, only living through his memory of her. Now, he has gone, but every year, I make the walk with my son, sharing the same simple joys that I remember with a hope that they may leave a similar last impression on him.
On this page, I write my final confession. One no one could ever guess and some would hope I never spoke, but years ago, when my black hair had no grey and my face was free of wrinkles, I sent him away. Without any parting words, without a comforting blow. I simply took the rose-colored glass bowl that was our love and I smashed it into millions of sharp edges and shattered pieces. It was not by lying in another’s bed nor had I whispered the words “I wish not to wed.” It was a simple turn of the cheek, a change of mask if you will. I became a beast. My walls grew too high and my pride was running too deep. I can’t say his leaving was too much of a surprise the day it actually happened. Honestly, I thought I’d forget about him in time. Forget about the smell of the forest that clung to his clothes, the way his blue eyes would burn insecurity into me, but most of all I wished to forget the warmth of his arms. The cold since only feels much more so, almost unbearable. Though, it’s not like I could tell him. He would have found out eventually and I would have been committed or worse. I couldn’t tell him of the bodies in the back or my insatiable urge to bathe in the young’s blood. I would not dare mutter that dinner was sometimes missed by someone’s mother. After all, what would he say being a gentleman of the cloth? When so clearly, I would be turned away and told there is something ‘dark’ in me? They would’ve held me down and tried to pray the demons out of me. My confession is my regret that I wish I could have feasted upon his flesh.
#Relationship # Murder
It was once believed that to walk this path you must have been willing to sell your soul. Only I found it was less in the sale and more in the buying of one, to begin with. I entered this life but a shell of existence. Walked through it with something missing, but, never could I point it out why I felt so different. Late one night, I mistakenly took the wrong turn. Maybe from exhaustion or maybe out of complacence. It led to me being inside a dusty shop with hardly any lights. This small shop was unlike any other, besides it being open so late, it had no doors, and everything upon the shelves carried an alluring faint glow. Captivated, I scan over every jar, bottle, and box. The lights inside only seem to dance and glow brighter as I move closer. Through, the aisles I wander, losing track of time becoming enchanted by these shelves and their contents. Before too long, I am at a corner, where before me a simple jar draws me in so effortlessly. Within its walls flutters a glow of three colors, pink, blue and sea green, who dance ever joyously in my shadow. It only takes me deeper as it begins to sing.
My trance is broken by a whispered voice coming from behind, “I see you have found it.” I turn but no one is there. “Many people come in and look around. They pick up the first light that they think is pretty enough, most of the time they leave without every laying eyes on the right one.”
“How did I find it, if I didn’t even know what I was looking for?”
“This is how you do find it, when your eyes are open the widest.”
“But, what is it?”
“It is you. All your love, all of your soul, but mostly, your magic.”
“What does it do?”
“That isn’t for me to tell. It is for you to find out.” The strange voice tapers off like a slight gust of wind. As I turn back around, the jar is empty, the shelves are gone and the shop has disappeared, but, within my walls, a warmth stands. It is from this day I could make things happen, do unexplainable things. #witch #magic #occult
Would you come to a place where only I know where it is? Would you still, if I told you it cannot be reached by foot nor train nor plane? It is further than Earth but closer than self, for it is a place that only can be touched within the heart and mind. Sit with me, my dear, close your eyes as our legs press against the warm earth. Find yourself tucked safely away behind the fence lined in trees and flower bushes. Close your eyes and breath in deeply. Here it is only you and me. Breath in the world and let out all fears that may come to mind for they can do no harm here. Soar, my dear, let your mind free. Up into the clouds may we be. Higher and higher, until you think there is not much further we can go and then still, go higher. Into the stars we will dance. Above it all, we’ll cross the multiverse’s romance.  Still further there is to go and more steps to prance. Go to forest of starlight and gas, so dense no light can be seen beneath its canopy. It is here more colors than the eye can see exist. It is here where the land the heart yearns for sits. Walk with me. It is further in. Soon we will land upon a clearing, where water falls so bright and flows freely into a hole where nothing can be seen. Would you still come with me if I told you, it is here where we must jump in? Do not be afraid for it doesn’t hurt. On the contrary, it feels as if all of life, all the best, would run through you at the same time. Euphoria, I believe is what they call it. Come with me for on the other side is where we need to be. There are trees of such a deep green that climb at least a mile high and fog that dances with magic. Here, dreams come true, no matter the color, size or hue. So, my dear, would you still come, knowing the journey is long, but all wishes the heart could dream awaits? #wanderlust @Ravensinkpublishing
~Based Upon a True Story~ 
The once driven road has let nature usher in its course; grass, flowers and mushrooms prevailing in the tracks place.  With the clouds laying calming shadows upon the land and enough blue skies, make it seem like the perfect day. A gentle hike is not too far from the beauty of the lake that awaits. ‘Ah, the best kind of afternoon for fishing.’ I think, as I look around to an empty lake, only one other fellow far across on the other side.  A swoosh and plop, leads to nothing the first few times. I decide to change the lure to one I just received from my monthly tackle box subscription. A decision I learn to regret. I cast a few times far into the center of the lake. It results in nothing. But when I cast off to the side, as I am bringing it back in there is a slight tug. ‘Oh, I’ve got you.’ I say setting the hook and reeling the little devil in. Closer and closer it comes, until it cuts the line, stealing my lure!
“Oh, you just made the wrong kind of enemy fish!” It is this day I decided to not rest until this fish is caught. Unfortunately, without rest the mind and body are not at their peak. As the days follow, I do not leave the lake. I cast and cast and cast until my knuckles are white and eyes heavy. Precisely at this moment, I make up my mind to go in and get it. I jump into the cold velvet water. My head is soon under, but my eyes are clear. There watching me watch it was the fish better called Titan. I knew it was him because upon his lip is my lure fitting like a small piercing like that on a person’s nose. “Give me my lure, you beast!” I order him. He responds with a smirk before swallowing in all the water around. His breath is like falling into a giant drain. I cannot resist. Before too long I slip by my lure and into the belly of the fish I should have left alone.
*The true piece is I lost a lure yesterday and a fish*
Resonates today
I was born the day of the first sunrise, as it kissed the tops of hills around me, sparking the seed from which I came. Before the day, I raised like leaves reaching for the clouds with only one goal in mind; spread far and spread wide, cover it all, and leave none of it to hide. Every seed left in my wake will birth as the days grow more plentiful leaving many more in their shadow. Each to sprout more than leaves. Each to find breath. Ah, but what must be given in order to receive? Simple, there was once a great death upon these lands. All was given. All had been taken away. Now all that is left is birth.
And birth begins with a single seed set into the ground. This lovely place hasn’t only been erased once, not only 5, but 20-fold. Its name this time being Eetah. A clear and simple intention to introduce a new era. One to fail or maybe succeed. It doesn’t matter what we come to see. For it is pencil on paper. A single letter to begin a sentence. The first line in the rest of a book. It’s the characters rolling over and over in their lives trying to find their way. Writing their own stories believing they are the beginning of time.
I have been born many a time, sometimes reaching for the sky and then others, reaching deep into the sands of the lowest oceans. To write, to create, is to become new and old every time. It is to take a flower and make it speak in tongues known and those just created. It is to breed wishes on a tree where all that is needed is a small step stool to reach into its leaves. Take one or take twenty, in the end it will be plenty. Eetah for today and tomorrow by another name. The process will share in similarly, but, never will it be indistinguishable, for even the same path will deal new results when walked once again in a new hour.
HEADS UP- This is more of a reflection than a story. Today we burn my uncle and I don’t know how I feel about it. I mean obviously I’m sad. I’ll miss him, but a part of me is happy for him. Not in a ‘haha you’re dead’ kind of way but more or less the ‘free from pain’ kind. When he passed, a part of me was relieved, because no longer does he have to fight against himself. No longer was his body riddled with pain and the depression of losing the two closest people to him. No longer does he have to remember that his own niece, my dear cousin, Angie, was taken before him in a cruel twist of fate. I am guilty because I don’t have to money to bury him like he wanted. I am guilty because he will be in my home, watching the clouds mousy over the rolling hills of these mountains when instead he craved to beside our family’s final resting spot. I am guilty because instead of giving him peace, I told him that he couldn’t because the fear I had from the things I’ve seen up here. I made him feel so alone. Though I know I shouldn’t be guilty, I am. I am guilty like the sky who only pretends to be blue. But, don’t think for second that I won’t miss you, because I miss all 9 of you that have passed this year and the 4 closest to me, unbearably. I have lashed out. I have been rude. I have been so angry at everything, because I just didn’t understand why. Why was all this loss necessary? Why was our family the chosen? It has come to a few realizations. The first being, ‘life is short, you might as well.’ The next and most obvious and cliché, ‘cherish those you have around you.’ I have spent my entire life distancing people as a mechanism of keeping myself safe. I love my friends, but I’m sure none of them know it. I have been stricken with a burying anxiety my entire life, when sometimes I can’t even go outside. It manifests as anger, because at least then, I feel in control, but I’m not. Over the last year, I’ve grown, but mostly after him, did it all become clear.
They say magic isn’t real, but what if I were to tell you, that it is? That I have encountered people who can make things happen, change the winds of time in an instant, like they changed mine. At first, it all washed over like a faint memory and then overtime, it faded completely before coming back entirely. I wouldn’t have known any better if it weren’t me and my life that I am speaking of. If I had not faded in and out of existence only to resume my life as something much darker.
Before my return, I was a simple peasant. I labored my days away in the stalls between field and bakery. Nothing was I in life and nothing I expected to return to in death. Its sweet kiss of plague took me mercilessly into the angel’s dark embrace. I was but a mere child when the breath of life was stolen from me, but, I did not return as such. My bones were raised from the cold earth and spelled upon with fire and ice. Breath found itself renewed within my lungs and light filled my sights.
I soon found myself looking into eyes. The eyes that I would soon know as the commander of my now destined soul. The words from her mouth dripped like poison from fangs and I knew from then on, I wasn’t what I was but I am now what I am. I walk the worlds calling souls for the feast to keep her body young and leave her soul with life. Though, a few every decade would satiate any normal person. She is like a cat who kills not only for the food but for the fun. Being neither dead or alive, I am cursed to walk without thirst or hunger, but even death is better than the nonexistence I will face if I disobey, erased from all passages of time.
So, when you hear the wind howl in manner strange and unsettling during the night. I beg you to tear away into the light because I lurk where the shadows stand and can’t pass beyond their hands.